“Not even a little curious?”
Did that sound bitter? Everyone I’d known in LA had watched it, half of them had seemed to think it was okay to watch it and then make a joke about it, like it was no big deal. The other half were trying to pretend they didn’t know me, that we weren’t really friends, that they were shocked atmybehavior.
Seth was the only person so far who’d told me I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wasn’t sure he was right. I should have been more careful—I shouldn’t have been out looking for hookups in the first place. The risk had been too high.
And now look where I was.
Back in my hometown, tail between my legs, tucked into Ward’s geriatric pickup truck like I had been so many other times he’d had to bail me out of something or somewhere.
“You’re my best friend and someone posted a private moment they’d filmed without your consent on the internet. Everyone who watches that is complicit,” Ward said with an edge to his voice I wasn’t used to hearing. “I’m not gonna be a part of hurting you. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”
“Best friend?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that—it’d been a long time, and I thought maybe I hadn’t maintained the right to call Ward my best friend, but here he was saying it for me.
It felt better than I deserved.
“Best friend,” Ward said firmly. “Problem?” he added, glancing away from the road for just a fraction of a second to look at me.
“No problem,” I said, watching the trees go by out of the side window, hiding the ridiculous little smile on my face.Best friend.
I didn’t have a whole lot of friends left, and as far as I knew, Ward was the best friend anyone had ever called theirs.
I liked the thought that I could maybe still call him mine.
“Good.”
I must’ve dozed off watching the trees go past after that, because the next thing I knew, the truck was rolling to a gentle stop in front of the cutest little Cabin Porn-inspired A-frame I’d ever seen. If I took a picture, it’d go viral within the hour. Everything about it was perfect, right down to the string of porch lights hanging under the upstairs balcony and the bright red door. It would have been magical at night.
“You like?” Ward asked from the driver’s seat.
“This is the most adorable cabin I’ve ever seen,” I said. “Whose is it?”
Ward chuckled, unclipping his seatbelt. “All mine,” he said. “Built it with my own fair hands. Want the tour?”
“Seriously?” I asked, following as Ward jumped out of the truck.
I’d known he was getting into the family carpentry business last I heard from him, but there was a difference between knocking together some kitchen cabinets and building a whole goddamn house.
Ward had always wanted that, though. To settle down in a home of his own, with a family of his own someday.
Of the two of us, I was starting to think he was the smart one.
“I had some help,” Ward admitted. “Even Seth rolled his sleeves up for me.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, he’s okay sometimes,” Ward said, keys jingling in his hand as he unlocked the front door with a flick of his wrist.
The inside was just as cozy and perfect as the outside. A sagging, well-used couch sat in front of a wood stove on cedarwood floorboards, firewood with the bark still on piled next to it. A couple of mismatched armchairs filled the rest of the living space. On the other side, under the loft, was a neat little kitchen with a rough-hewn handmade table that some of my LA friends would have paid a small fortune for, with eight different dining chairs crowded around it.
I ran my hands over it, feeling the oiled wood under my fingers. Ward’s style was carved right into it, and touching the table was as close as I was about to get to holding his hand.
Right now, I could’ve used someone to hold my hand. Just for a minute, just to tell me everything was going to be okay.
From the enormous dining table fit for the big family Ward had always dreamed of, I made my way to the built-in bookshelves, smiling at the battered copies of old school books I remembered reading with him, running my gaze over the collection of knickknacks and photos perched in front of them.
“Oh my god,” I said, picking up one of the smallest framed ones. It was of me and Ward, a selfie before selfies were a thing, from way back in high school. We could only have been fifteen in it.
Ward had one arm flung around my shoulders and the other holding the camera out. It was taken too close and with the wrong lens, my face was all braces and acne, Ward had the most mid-naughties haircut of all time, but we were both grinning like idiots.
